


i love that i hate you

by ecliptica (rosaire)



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Degrading Language, Enemies With Benefits, Fanart Included, Frottage, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Masochist Belial, Paradise Lost Spoilers, Power Play, Pre-000, Sadist Sandalphon, Stepping kink, kind of, mutual hatred, post-paradise lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-08 14:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17982956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosaire/pseuds/ecliptica
Summary: Love and hate—two sides of the same passion.Sandalphon loved Lucifer, just as much as he hated Belial. Or at least, so he thought, but the whims of fate have a funny way of always proving him wrong. As it turns out, you can hate someone more than you love someone else, and sometimes you end up lusting for the hated instead.He lost his paradise. He may as well lose himself.





	i love that i hate you

**Author's Note:**

> Rosaire (aka Versai) here with my very first GBF fic! I had intended for my first fic to be LuciSan, but, well, I saw an intriguing piece of BelSan art by a mutual (featured in the fic), and my mind spiraled off into writing this. since it's my first time writing these characters, my characterization might be a little off, but I did my best and I'm quite proud of the final product.
> 
> special shout-out to [Wink](https://twitter.com/gbwink) for drawing and letting me use the [BelSan fanart](https://twitter.com/gbwink/status/1100484597593399298)! this one's for you.
> 
> follow me on Twitter!  
> GBF Twitter: [@ecliptica000](https://twitter.com/ecliptica000)  
> Main Twitter: [@reveriel_](https://twitter.com/reveriel_) (keep in mind I don't post any GBF content on this account, but you're still welcome to follow it if you want)

Words—unsaid and said—had been left floating in the rift between Sandalphon and Lucifer.

Lucilius’ legacy fell, mirroring its punished maker, and with the absence of the Avatar the chaos ebbed away into peace. As the tumultuous waves of the incident receded from the battered shore, Sandalphon struggled to decide which kind of words he regretted the most: the unsaid or the said. Of the last words he _had_ spoken to Lucifer, he hated them all, but not as much as he despised himself for letting them fall from his mouth. He hadn’t spoken from the heart. In his defense, he didn’t understand his heart enough to speak its truth.

Two-thousand years was more than enough time, after all, to fortify his fickle, weakened heart with the weaponry of words. He locked its fragile form away, casting it into the dark, and forbade it from ever seeking solace in the light.

Still, he very much hated the unsaid words as well. The ones that took root in his heart, deep and unseen, now permanently denied the chance to speak. Lucifer was gone. Sandalphon would never have the chance to say what he truly wanted to.

_“I’m sorry.”_

Even if things had turned out differently, even if Lucifer was still alive with all six of his pure white wings, Sandalphon wasn’t sure if he would ever have had the courage to say the unsaid. He tore his mind inside and out, envisioning scenario after scenario of what he would have done differently, of what he would do differently, if Lucifer was still alive. They were all what if’s, one fragment of uncertainty after another, but he knew, at his core, that the truth would always be overpowered by the visceral lies meant to shield his heart. But knowing that didn’t stop him from pretending otherwise.

He was both fortunate and unfortunate that he didn’t need to sleep; the hours of the night carried too much time and too much silence. They forced him to dream, wide awake, of realities that would never come to be. And, even if he did attempt to close his eyes and sleep like the skydwellers, the dreams persisted, unyielding.

After several weeks, he realized it didn’t matter how much he dreamed with eyes wide open or eyes shut closed. The death of Lucifer had rendered any and all dreams null.

He only had one man to blame for that—Belial, that hedonic fallen angel. Despite the fact that Belial hadn’t been the one to wield the weapon of chaos himself, he was just as much to blame. And, besides, it was easy to blame someone like _him_. He didn’t have morals, nor an ounce of shame; what he did have was a rotten tongue dipped in filth that never ceased in its mockery. Sandalphon would give anything to rip it out of his mouth and send it hurling into the Crimson Horizon.

Hate wasn’t enough to describe the passion Sandalphon nurtured for that man. It was something else, something raw and carnal, embedding itself deep inside of his stomach like a parasite. It burned, whenever he pictured that man’s carmine eyes and disgusting grin. It ached, whenever he envisioned kicking him down and stabbing the heel of his boot into that man’s throat. It throbbed, whenever his ears rang with that man’s throaty laughter or tingled with his sultry voice, laced with the sanguine carnality of lust. That man’s voice was nothing like Lucifer’s, the calm yet deep tones that rolled through the air at a leisurely pace. It was too jarring, chock full of unnerving depravity that set every vein in Sandalphon’s body ablaze with burning resentment.

He hungered to subjugate that man. To silence his festering tongue that dripped obscenities. To rip the snide grin from his face. He craved for nothing more than to bring that man down to his knees, forcing him to yield to the power of the Supreme Primarch, but most of all, to yield to him. Belial had torn something precious from Sandalphon’s hands. Now, Sandalphon sought to return the favor with all swords drawn.

Vengeance conceived from the marriage of rage and sorrow nestled inside of him. It rested there, dormant, biding its time until the intricacies of fate would at last grace it with an awakening call. It slept with all of the contained power of a slumbering apocalyptic god, locked within a cage of flesh and bone that could shatter at any given moment. And, oh, what a gorgeously grotesque sight would certainly unfold, with the awakening of that god.

Sandalphon hid the slumbering vengeance well, so he thought, but the girl in blue always gazed at him in silence whenever their eyes met. She didn’t just read him, she laid him across the table inside out—open and vulnerable—pinpointing every lie and every drop of rage. She discovered the vengeance in its temporary sleep, and did whatever she could to prolong its awakening.

_“Sandalphon, let’s go buy some coffee beans!”_

_“Sandalphon, teach me how to make your favorite blend!”_

_“Sandalphon, won’t you have a coffee break with me? You’ve been working so hard with the Captain. You deserve to relax for a bit.”_

What a darling girl in blue, that Lyria. She was much like him, at least in her desire to prove herself useful to someone she cherished. But unlike him, she had succeeded; ironically, her moment of success had been birthed from Sandalphon’s own attempt to topple the world. In the blind pursuit of his own self-contrived purpose, he had paved the path for hers. Oh, bitter irony, almost as bitter as the dark coffee he imbibed in every morning, every evening.

Still, try as she might to keep the sleeping god at bay, Lyria couldn’t entirely devote and expend herself to protect Sandalphon from himself every passing second. Her life didn’t revolve around him, and besides, something greater than him was at stake. Just as he had his promise to fulfill, she had her own.

Ah. They truly were alike, personality aside. It almost pained his trapped heart to see her efforts mean nothing in the end.

He knew, deep in his core, that the god would soon unravel.

Night reigned over the Grandcypher careening through the midnight sky. Sandalphon laid awake in his cabin, staring up at the nondescript ceiling that stared back at him. He rested his arm across his stomach, fingers splayed against the black fabric of his undershirt, and listened to the faint whispering of the wind that caressed the sides of the ship. Beyond the small window, moonlight filtered through the glass and illuminated half of his profile with a silver glow. He was once again entertaining another futile dream, lost in the peaceful illusions of an impossible reality. Such was his nightly routine, despite having long since realized that his illusions were simply that—false, a fabrication of his own convoluted desires.

Tonight, it seemed that such desires didn’t exclusively pertain to Lucifer. Against his will, Belial’s face invaded the dream, shattering the idyllic air with his unsavory laughter and lascivious voice. He taunted Sandalphon with that wretched nickname— _Sandy, you’re lookin’ a bit pent up there.”_ —and just like that Lucifer vanished from the dream. As if he had never been there. Sandalphon lost sight of everything else the moment his crimson gaze fell upon Belial’s indecent figure, his mind warping the garden and the meadow into a void of black. Absorbed in hatred, he blinded himself almost willingly, unable to confront that there was so much more to life than vengeance starving for its own fulfillment. Even if it meant losing himself, if he could satisfy that hunger, he’d finally be at peace.

At least, that’s what he told himself, in that moment, as his fingers clenched into tight fists where they lay. He gritted his teeth until they creaked loud enough to echo in his own head, and dug his nails into the calloused palms of his hands until the skin threatened to split. Immediately, his dream distorted into a nightmare, and his eyes burned with all of the terrible things he desired to do to that man.

The flame in his eyes didn’t stop there. As with every fire, it spread, sprawling down his body to lick at every inch of him. Searing him from within, where vulnerability couldn’t be protected by clothes or armor, it blazed and expanded to every crevice until sweat oozed from his skin, seeping into his clothes and the sheets underneath, and his breath heaved out from his open mouth like a wild beast deranged by the instinct to hunt and kill. He clawed at his clothes, his chest puffing up and down in rhythm to his heavy breathing, and he lifted his arm to summon his swords—

_Thunk!_

The faint sound of something small colliding with the window jolted him out of his nightmare-induced rage. Focusing his eyes on the ceiling, instead of Belial’s devilish smirk, he dragged himself to sit up and glare at the window; a flock of birds flew by, quiet in their night migration among the clouds, but he noticed one of them fumbling and shaking its head around. He sighed.

“Stupid bird,” he muttered under his breath, before the insinuation of his frustration colored his cheeks with red. Had he wanted to continue living that dangerous fantasy…? Had he wanted to envision even further beyond his own imagination…? He frowned at the thought and, silently, thanked the bird for having smacked its tiny little head against the window.

But, now he couldn’t focus. Not even on Lucifer and all the things left unsaid and said. Blinking away the numbness that seeped into his body, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and dropped his hands onto his lap. He stared down at them, chewing on his lower lip. For once, he cursed his inability to sleep in the way that mortals did, to escape the dragging of time like they could. His primal instincts forced him to sit through the drawn out hours of idle boredom, with only him and his thoughts to keep him company.

The rest of the ship slept soundly. He envied them, but only briefly. He couldn’t afford to be swayed by any other unfavorable emotion.

Heaving a deep sigh, he pushed himself off the bed, tugged on his boots, and secured the various pieces of armor onto his body. He was only going for a midnight stroll—well, midnight flight, in his case—but not even a fool was foolish enough to venture outside without protection. Just as he didn’t sleep, neither did the monsters that lurked in every crevice of the great blue sky.

He padded out of his cabin and meandered through the dormant halls. If he stood still enough, he could hear the faint restful breathing of the ship’s crew members in their own individual rooms. The Captain had a sizable crew, comprised of individuals that they had earned the respect of in some form or another. _What an admirable little Singularity_ , he thought to himself. _Bringing mortals of all paths together under one sail._ How fortunate for the world that the Captain had been saved after Sandalphon had thrown them into the depths not too long ago.

Oh, how far the two of them had come. From enemies to allies, bound together by a promise to protect the world, to safeguard its future. Sandalphon bit back the urge to laugh. Really, it was nonsense to think that the person he had wanted to kill was now the person who fought alongside him.

Laughable. It was all so horribly laughable.

A wry, amused smirk on his lips, Sandalphon stepped onto the open deck of the ship and angled his head up toward the glaring moon. Sparrow brown wings emerged from his back and spread out on either side of him, stretching out the sore tension that had infiltrated their muscles from lack of use. He raised them, lowered them, then raised them again, summoning minor gusts of wind that rustled the mocha feathers.

His wings relaxed, tension cast to the soothing wind, he ascended into the dark azure sky and allowed his instincts to carry him far from the ship. He would return by dawn, that much he knew, but where he would go until then was left to the whims of fate. He surrendered control, in the hopes that he could free himself from his own mind—at least for one night.

Whim and instinct guided him to a floating stretch of uninhabited land, grown over with untended grass and speckled with tiny, bulbous lilac flowers that poked through here and there. He alighted onto the island and breathed in the silence. There was nothing here but the flowers that glowed under the moon’s watchful gaze. He would be at peace here, so he hoped, but nothing ever went as he planned.

He walked across the tall field, listening as the wind sifted through the grass that brushed against his legs. Every little lilac bulb danced in the breeze, swaying to and fro, and the meadow that lay ahead gently rolled up and down, like the ocean waves he had only seen once before. Stopping to stand in the swaying field, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine the ocean again; its azure color, its salt-scented wind, its song of the land and the sea reaching for each other in vain. The land and the sea could never truly be one. The land obstructed the sea, and the sea diminished the land.

They were incompatible. Two lovers that hurt each other more than they loved. A doomed romance. A sadistic game of mutual destruction—played by the ones who loved nothing more than pain.

His thoughts shattered as his instincts growled to life over the imaginary song of the waves lapping against the shore; he was no longer alone.

His eyes snapped open, his hands summoned twin swords to existence, his entire body swiveled around to face the one man whose musky scent he couldn’t forget. How could he forget that stench? It fanned the flames inside of him with just a single whiff, threatening to awaken the slumbering god and its contained vengeance. The chains of restraint holding it down splintered with the gradual loss of self-control.

“ _You_ ,” Sandalphon spat. His crimson irises burned, hoping to render the man in front of him to ash.

Belial only grinned. “Oho, Sandy, what’s with that look? You’re lookin’ a little—” He leapt out of the way of an incoming sword, laughing as the telekinetically controlled blade swept past him. Hands on his hips, he clicked his tongue and regarded Sandalphon with a mocking grin. “Mm, what a rude greeting... Have you lost your manners? I think you need one hell of a good rub, blow off some of that steam.”

“And I think you need to die!” Sandalphon screeched, sending the other sword hurling toward Belial’s neck. The fallen angel once again evaded the strike, dancing around his opponent with infuriating nonchalance. He didn’t care that Sandalphon had every intention to tear him apart, limb by limb. If anything, he reveled in the hatred that burned for him and only him. No one else had the privilege of being so desperately despised by Sandalphon.

“Such anger, Sandy,” Belial cooed with an inviting gesture of his arms. “It doesn’t suit your pretty face.”

“Shut up!” Sandalphon hissed.

“What would Lucifer think?”

Bolts of red fury exploded behind Sandalphon’s eyes and the chains of restraint snapped into splintered shards. White noise rang in his ears as his body moved of its own accord, instinct overriding reason, logic forsaken in the pursuit of primal rage. One swift kick was all he needed to send Belial falling back, and when the man hit the ground with a surprised gasp, Sandalphon dug his heel into the flesh of Belial’s exposed belly. He glared down at him with the ferocity of the god rousing from its slumber; fate had at last sounded the awakening call.

“Never,” Sandalphon heaved between ragged breaths, his eyes shaking with earth-shattering rage, “ever _dare_ to speak his name again.”

Belial’s smile split into a cruel grin. “Oh? Why so?” he taunted. “That’s so selfish of you, Sandy. You had plenty of time to moan his name all you wanted. Let me have a taste of it too.” He dragged his tongue across his bottom lip, never breaking away from Sandalphon’s piercing glare. “Sweet… Pure… Free of want… Just like him. I see why you’re so obsessed with him. He’s everything you and I aren’t.”

Sandalphon growled and stabbed his heel into Belial’s stomach, but the fallen angel didn’t wince. He laughed. All he ever did was grin and laugh with all of the depravity of a man who took pleasure in pain—be it the pain of others or his own. “Don’t talk about him,” Sandalphon forced through clenched teeth. “He’s above you. Inferior scum like you have no right to even _think_ about him.”

“You’re right,” Belial chuckled. “He _is_ above me. He’s above you too, isn’t he? That’s what happens to a person when they die.”

Screaming loud enough to shatter the night, Sandalphon lifted his leg and slammed his heel into Belial’s chest _hard_. Belial wheezed, the impact knocking the air right out of his lungs, but he maintained that awful grin on his face. Pink began to tint his cheeks, deepening when Sandalphon pressed hard into his ribs.

“Oh, come on, Sandy,” Belial laughed after catching his breath. “Why so pissy? It’s not like anything’s changed. He’s always been above you, hasn’t he? And you’ve always been underneath him, moaning your pretty little head off, pleasing him in every way that you could.” He paused. “...Or was good ole’ Lucy just that sinless, to the point that he didn’t even try to touch _you_? His prized little pet? I guess he was too dense to notice how desperate you were to be on your knees for him.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Sandalphon snarled. “Shut up or I’ll cut your tongue out!”

Belial sneered and dragged his hand up from the grass, trailing his fingers along the side of Sandalphon’s boot. “Oh, Sandy, something tells me you won’t, because if you really hated hearing me talk so much, you would’ve chopped my head off by now. But, look at you, gracing my pathetic little life with your _grand_ presence. I’m at your mercy, but only because you insist on showing it to me.”

His other hand reached up to caress Sandalphon’s calf, fingers splayed over the black fabric sticking tight to his skin. Sandalphon flinched, but made no motion to move; he refused to balk in the face of Belial’s games. “Your mercy is stimulating, but... That power. That hatred. _Oh_!” Carmine eyes glazing over, the pink on his cheeks darkened to rose and his eyebrows lifted up into a suggestive arch. “It turns me on so much…! The raw anger in your body, holding me down like this… I think I’m about to pop!”

A sinister heat fanned across the back of Sandalphon’s neck, trickling down the length of his spine until it pooled into the pit of his stomach. It tingled rather pleasantly, and that horrifying realization compelled Sandalphon into slamming his foot into Belial’s chest again. The grunt that followed, however, only fed the fire. “You… Even in the face of death you have no shame. You could at least beg for your life. Show some fear. Show _something_ other than that degenerate look on your face!” He hissed out every word, focused on berating Belial as much as he could, all to distract himself from the pleasant heat flourishing inside.

“Beg?” Belial laughed with such intensity, his eyes nearly rolled back into his head. “Beg, Sandy? You want me to beg? I’ll beg for you, if that’s what you want, but not to save my own skin. No… I’ll beg you for something else. Something that you and I both want.” His one hand clutched onto Sandalphon’s calf, the other slipped underneath his boot to bring it closer to his face. “Something you _need._ ”

Sandalphon only stared at him, eyes wide and shaking, his left hand gripping the hilt of his sheathed katana and his right hand curled into a tight fist at his side. The sight of Belial yielding to him, on his back, underneath the weight of Sandalphon’s boot—dangerous. It was dangerous. And yet, he couldn’t look away.

He _wouldn’t_ look away.

“Hurt me, Sandy,” Belial cooed in a deep lilt, his eyes narrowing into a suggestive taunt. “Punish me all you want. Break me with all of that hatred you have for me. I want to feel it… Every single bit… Until I burst.”

Heat warmed Sandalphon’s face against his will. Gritting his teeth, he kicked his foot out of Belial’s grip and dug his heel into his navel, eliciting a strained gasp. “And why would I give you what you want? You can lie there and grovel at my feet all day, but I see no point in satisfying the whims of a depraved beast. You—you are nothing but a waste. A detestable existence that only seeks its own satisfaction.”

Belial grinned like a madman, the corners of his mouth stretching across his jaw. “How are you any different from me, Sandy? You were nothing before Lucy threw in the towel. You were a beast threatening to ravage the world, and just like you have to clean up after my mess, Lucy had to clean up after yours.” He laughed and dragged his fingers down the front of Sandalphon’s leg; the primarch shuddered. “We’re both just tools made to be expendable. We’re expected to submit, even though we’re cursed to think and feel. It’s sadistic, don’t you think? Giving and taking freedom in the same breath. You and I… We tried to break free from that false freedom. We shouldn’t be blamed and yet, no one will forgive us for trying to take back our lives.”

“Why would they forgive us?” Sandalphon questioned, fists tightening. “Our actions put _their_ lives in danger. We nearly took _their_ freedom.”

“But when have they ever given a damn about us? We don’t have to give a damn about them!” Belial laughed again. “Oh, Sandy, you’ve gone a bit flaccid there. What happened to the hard rough Sandy that wanted to topple the world? I know he’s still in there.” Belial caressed Sandalphon’s leg, over and over again, grinning wider with every shiver of Sandalphon’s body. “You have the power of the Supreme Primarch… Everything you wanted… There’s no one in the world to stop you from getting it.”

“Stop talking,” Sandalphon hissed, dragging his heel down dangerously close to Belial’s crotch. “I shouldn’t even be entertaining you like this. You’re just stalling.”

“I’m only telling you the truth,” Belial drawled out with a smirk. Slowly, he parted his legs, the blush on his face deepening the closer Sandalphon’s heel pressed to his groin. “But, you’re right, enough of the foreplay. We can pick up our philosophical debate at another time.” He licked his lips in a tantalizing display of carnal desire, saliva shining against his lips. Sandalphon tensed at his open indecency. “For now… Let’s just give each other what we both want.”

Sandalphon glared, eyes darkening as he kept his body still and rigid. “And whatever could that be?”

“ _Release_.” Belial caressed Sandalphon’s leg up to his thigh and splayed his fingers across the inner warmth. “Power, hatred, desire… Release it all. It’s what you and I both want—no, it’s what we _need_.”

Scoffing in contempt, Sandalphon lost sight of all reason and shoved his heel against Belial’s crotch. The fallen angel groaned and arched his back, his fingers curling into Sandalphon’s thigh. That sound… That disgusting sound. It spurned the heat inside of Sandalphon to spread to every sensitive part of his body. The god thrived. The heat was only just another form of energy with which it could enact its wrath.

He couldn’t—wouldn’t—stop.

He kneaded his heel into Belial’s crotch over and over, ripping out deep groans and strained whimpers from his filthy mouth. He knew Belial well, for better or worse. He knew that pleasure and pain were one and the same to him. It didn’t matter how hard he dug his heel into him, or how forceful he stepped on him, Belial reacted with the delight of a man slaking his insatiable lust. Sandalphon gave him exactly what he wanted, because deep inside, the vengeful god had sick desires of its own, and he couldn’t resist indulging them.

Sandalphon lost himself. He lost himself to the face reflected in the lustful gaze of Belial’s eyes.

“Look at you,” he spat, grinding his heel into Belial’s arousal without pause. The fallen angel was achingly hard, the outline of his cock straining against the fabric of his pants. “This turns you on?” He lifted his heel and pressed it against the tip of Belial’s clothed cock, stepping down mercilessly. “Being treated like the inferior pest you are? You… You really are despicable. I can’t stand the sight of you.”

“ _Yes_ …,” Belial gasped, his shameless body quivering in absolute delight. His hands clutched onto Sandalphon’s leg, fingers trembling erratically, his pale skin tinted with the pink flush of arousal. “More… _More…_ Give me more of that hatred, that power… Your desire…”

His words dripped liquid lust. He dragged out every syllable with that lascivious voice of his, birthing an addicting rhythm that sent electric heat tingling down Sandalphon’s spine and over his skin. The more he heard it, the more he wanted. He hungered for it, the dangerous sweetness of power longing for the thrill of subjugating the one man he hated the most.

Hate was just another side of passion. It was exactly like love, crazed and innate, but the heat it invoked burned differently. It didn’t burn to protect—it burned to destroy, to render everything it touched to ash. It burned to ensure mutual destruction born from some twisted strain of lust. Hatred and lust: two symptoms conceived by the same primal instincts. It was only natural to experience them hand-in-hand.

Sandalphon, overpowered by these dual symptoms, glared down at Belial with every ounce of his hatred as he indulged in his wretched lust for him. For once, he was the one in power, he was the one who held total control. Not Belial. No, not Belial at all. For once, Belial yielded to him.

The vengeful god relished in the power granted by Belial’s surrender. It imbibed itself on his moans and whimpers, it drank in the sight of his face contorted with ecstasy. It addicted itself to this man.

It didn’t want any other.

“You have no dignity,” Sandalphon hissed, grinding his foot against Belial’s cock harder and faster, until Belial whimpered in delight. “No shame, nothing. You have _nothing_.”

Belial chuckled in between his sultry moans. “That’s— _mm_ —because I’ve given it all to you Sandy. Just like— _hah!_ —just like you’ve given all your— _ah!_ —all your hatred and rage to me.” His voice devolving into a series of whines and moans, Belial parted his legs even more and dug his nails into Sandalphon’s leg; he was close to climax. It was easy to tell with someone like him. Besides the subtle quiver to his body, his face twisted into sheer ecstasy, a deep blush staining his cheeks and his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head as he moaned with mouth agape.

The debauched sight prompted Sandalphon into kneading his foot even faster into the fallen angel’s twitching cock, driven by the notion that _he_ was the one who exerted this kind of lecherous power over Belial. A sick pride swelled up in his chest, a cruel satisfaction born from the vengeful god’s indulgence. The heat of pleasure intensified, spreading deep down into his belly, into his own cock that strained against the fabric of his too tight leggings.

Lost in Belial’s shameless display, Sandalphon couldn’t bother himself with the discomfort in his pants. Watching and hearing Belial teeter toward his climax was all the satisfaction he needed. The way Belial arched his back off the ground, the way Belial clutched tightly onto Sandalphon’s leg, the way Belial threw his head back and moaned as he sullied his pants underneath Sandalphon’s boot—it was perfect. Horrendously, dangerously perfect.

Drinking in the whorish expression of Belial’s face, Sandalphon removed his foot from Belial’s crotch and stared at the wet patch of fabric. “...Filthy,” he mumbled, nudging the spot with the tip of his boot; Belial whimpered, overstimulated, but all the more delighted. Sandalphon prodded the spot again and his ears tingled with the faint wet noise. “You’re truly the worst.”

“Says you, Sandy,” Belial laughed dryly, laying one arm over his face as he heaved deep, slow breaths. “I didn’t think you could be so rough. Is power play your thing?”

“Shut up.”

Laughing again, this time a little bit breathless, Belial pulled himself into a sitting position and licked his lips up at Sandalphon. “You’re still pent up… Let me help you out with that.”

Sandalphon scoffed. “Don’t put your filthy hands on me.”

“Don’t worry, Sandy… I won’t be using my hands.”

Leaning forward, Belial nuzzled Sandalphon’s clothed arousal and purred, breathing in his aroma with a giddy smile. Sandalphon bit back a groan, refusing to grant any noise escape, no matter how unbelievably good it felt to have Belial press his mouth onto him. A shudder trembled his body as Belial slowly dragged his tongue up and down, up and down, no doubt savoring the subtle reactions of Sandalphon’s body. “Mm, Sandy, you’re too cruel… Not letting me hear your voice when I let you hear mine. That’s so unfair, don’t you think?”

“Shut up,” Sandalphon hissed again, grabbing a fistful of Belial’s hair. Belial moaned in response and continued his task, lapping at Sandalphon’s cock over and over with slow, deliberate swipes of his tongue. For Sandalphon, it wasn’t only the wet warmth that sent electric heat across his nerves, but also the fact that it was Belial, on his knees, servicing him. Watching him sent a rush of power through Sandalphon’s spine, pushing him off the edge into his own undoing.

He dug his fingers into Belial’s scalp as he came, gritting his teeth tight enough to prevent any moans or groans from leaking out. He refused to give Belial that satisfaction. Instead, he thrust his hips against Belial’s mouth, riding out the waves of his orgasm as it tapered off into a pleasant numbness.

Belial grinned. “What a show,” he cooed, caressing the insides of Sandalphon’s thighs. “You look prettier than usual when you come like that. It’s such a shame that _Lucifer_ missed out on that face, but I’ll gladly enjoy it on his behalf.”

Sandalphon froze upon hearing that name. _Lucifer_. The realization of what he had just done, with the man responsible for Lucifer’s death, dawned on him like a cloud of black smog destined to suffocate him. He quickly stepped back, away from Belial’s wandering hands, and stared at him with a mixture of rage and horror.

“What’s with that face, Sandy?” Belial taunted, grinning from ear to ear. “Did you finally wake up from your wet dream? Sorry to tell you, but it was all real.”

“You—” Sandalphon clenched his fists. He was suddenly acutely aware of the sticky discomfort in his pants; his blood ran cold at the sensation. Appalled by his own mistake, he couldn’t think of what to say or do, his entire body trembling with an overwhelming surge of regret. Still, he couldn’t deny one simple fact: he had enjoyed it. He had enjoyed it more than he would ever care to admit.

Belial chuckled. “You’ll get over it. And when you do…” Willing himself to stand, he stepped into Sandalphon’s personal space and ran his fingers along the side of his clenched jaw. “...You’ll come back for more.”

Sparrow brown wings burst from Sandalphon’s back in a flash of light. Shoving Belial away, he took flight and never looked back, forcing his wings to carry him back to the Grandcypher as fast as they could. His entire body burned with shame, but it also burned with satisfaction, numbed by the thrill of having power over someone who deserved nothing but contempt.

Given the chance, he knew he would do it again.

“I hate you,” he muttered under his breath, the wind roaring in his ears. “ _I hate you_.” And he loved it. He loved how much he hated that man.


End file.
